


Sunrise

by LittleSpacePrince



Series: Tale Teller's Daily Writing Challenge [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Character Death, Emotions, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, I cried writing it, Love, M/M, Pain, Sickfic, i'm proud of myself, it's just a lot of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpacePrince/pseuds/LittleSpacePrince
Summary: Prompt:Your character has been told they have only one day to live. How do they spend it?In which sunrises are watched through reflections.





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Suffer. Just suffer.

Doctors never told you that you only had a day to live. There was rarely such certainty, only rough estimates, never pinpointing it to the day, to the hour, to the second. There were exceptions, in cases of trauma or diseases that acted too quickly to catch, but in illnesses such as these, things took more time than a mere twenty-four hours. It festered and it spread, and there was time to hold to false hope, time to scramble in futility for a cure, time to suffer as it overtook your lungs and your strength, until you could no longer stand on your own two feet without collapsing. Empires don’t fall in a day, and nor do men. It was always the same slow, long fall, until it inevitably ended in the same way, no matter the attempts to stop it. 

The cancer diagnosis came eight months earlier. It had started with a simple loss of appetite, gone primarily unnoticed by the doctor; after all, he and Tony had been working in the lab a lot, and oftentimes skipped out on meals for a few extra minutes. Then there was an ache in his back and sides that began to nag at him, never quite going away, no matter how much Aspirin he took. Still, he didn’t allow himself to worry too much over, merely attributing it to getting old. There was fatigue, and weight loss, both of which he simply blamed on unhealthy habits fueled by all of Tony’s toys.

Perhaps there had been thoughts that maybe something bigger had something to do with it. Fleeting ideas that maybe there was something well and truly wrong with him. He refused to let them stay, though, refused to let himself dwell on what could very well be nothing. There would be too much irony in something being truly wrong. How ironic it would have been, for the man who had spent so many years of his life wanting to die to finally see his wish come true the moment that he changed his mind. 

It wasn’t until Tony had pointed out the mass that he put all of the pieces together, that he finally realized that there was no more ignoring it. They had been laying together after a night of quiet love-making, neither of them quite up for the raucous, rough sex that they used to have. Bruce was in and out of consciousness, head resting over the gnarled scar from where the arc reactor had once been, fingers tracing over his scars and perfect imperfections, while Tony’s fingers had been gently tracing rows up and down his back. The mechanic’s calloused fingers found the lump, prodding a moment as Bruce began to feel it too, the pain drawing a hiss from his teeth until Tony let go. Neither of them said a word of it. And yet, they both knew. 

Tony helped him draw the blood. Sent it down to labs more suitable than their own. It was two days later that the results came back, and they got the news. He remembered Tony holding tightly to him in those two days, refusing to let him leave his sights, fingers always finding their way back to that lump, as if he expected it to just not be there one day, as if he hoped that some miracle from a god he didn’t believe in would heal the only man he had ever truly loved. But that miracle never came. The lump was always there, and as much as they hoped, miracles didn’t come in the form of phone calls.

There would be more tests to confirm. Biopsies and blood tests and ultrasounds and MRI’s. But by the end of it all, the answer came back the same. Stage three renal cancer. 

They didn’t bother with the usual treatments, unsure of how it would react with long-term gamma poisoning. They came up with their own concoctions, though none of them seemed to work. There were days when the puking would stop for awhile, and the pain would ease off, and they would start to think that perhaps it had worked, only for him to end up in the hospital with fevers so high that they caused seizures, or so much pain that he couldn’t uncurl himself from fetal position. It was a vicious cycle, over and over and over again. 

Bruce gave up before Tony did.

It was a slow surrender, but at last, he admitted to his own defeat, accepted the futility in his scrambles for salvation. He surrendered to his own body, knowing that there was no curing it. There was no salvation, no miracle that could revive his tired bones, his only release being death itself. Still, Tony refused to surrender the only man he had ever truly loved to the dark, refused to let go, not after everything that they had been through. Two years spent searching for him, only to get him back and lose him a year later. A year was not enough, nothing in comparison to the lifetime that they were supposed to spend together. So he searched, and he fought, and he ran himself into the dirt, all while Bruce watched quietly and resigned himself to his fate. All while Tony desperately tried to keep him from giving up.

He had been counting down the days until death swept over him, waiting patiently for the release from the cage of bones that kept him tied here. He was frail, and tired, and no longer even able to stand on his own two feet. The Hulk had not bothered him since he’d first become sick, had not threatened, had not nagged at his flesh. Bruce found himself unable to summon him, as if the cancer had killed him first, taking away hope of some big green salvation. Even the thin green ring surrounding his pupil that had been there since the accident had faded away, and his eyes at last looked like his own for the first time since. Of course, those were the only things that seemed to look like his own anymore. His skin barely clung to bone, his hair graying quickly, looking years older than he was. His days were numbered, and he was nearing the end of his illness.

It was the morning of the two hundred and forty ninth day that he got a certain sense. The only doctor to tell him that he had one day to live would be himself, a prognosis based not in science, but in feeling. He watched the sunrise from their window, Tony curled in bed next to him, arm draped over his body, holding him close. Bruce breathed him in, the smell of oil and chemicals and coffee and whiskey. He laced his fingers through the mechanic’s, tracing over the callouses as he watched the sun appearing slowly over the horizon, the sky alight with pinks and oranges and colors he had never truly appreciated before. 

He wasn’t in pain. For the first time in weeks, he woke up without needing to vomit into the bag that stayed perpetually at his bedside. He didn’t feel the nagging pain that had been growing more and more painful as his tolerance for morphine built up. And somehow, he simply knew it. That this would be the last sunrise he would ever witness. 

Bruce stayed silent, watching as the sky turned a vibrant sort of blue and the morning ticked on, until Tony stirred behind him. Normally, he would get up, get his coffee, and get to work, trying to figure out some way to save him. Some new concoction, some new way to stress his body until the Hulk clawed his way to the surface and saved his life. But as he stirred, planting a small kiss on his forehead to greet him, Bruce whispered one word through hoarse throat and dry lips. 

“Stay.”

Tony began to protest, but quickly caught on to what he meant. His hours were numbered, and he wanted to spend the day wrapped in the arms of his lover. And so, for the first time since it'd all started, Tony laid down his weapons, drew truce with the tumors, and stopped fighting. No more struggles against the clock, no more working futilely while wasting the time that could've been spent tending to more important things. No more wasting time to try and buy time. No more. He surrendered. And he stayed with him. 

Conversation passed the time. Of good things and bad things, of all the things that should've been finished, of all the things that never were. Tony never let too much time go by before reminding him that he loved him. The day was filled with soft kisses and tight hugs, holding tight and refusing to let go. 

Bruce had only seen Tony cry once. After he'd returned home from Sakaar, finding his way back to Earth, to the place he'd learned to call home. Tony had clung tightly to him, brought him home and kept his eyes trained on him as to never let him slip from between his fingers again. But the tears didn't come until three days later. The night when they found consummation, when Tony had slipped between his thighs and made love to him for the first time. As they came down and Tony collapsed into his chest, he'd felt tears burning hot against flesh as he sobbed. So unlike him, and yet, so damn predictable. 

But that day, tears came like waterfalls, quiet and consistent as they lay together. Bruce cried with him, curled in his arms, letting the grief for all the time they had lost wash over him. Mourning for the lives they were supposed to have, mourning for the loss of old age, mourning for the time that they should have had to spend together. He cried, locked in the arms of his lover, letting the grief take him over. 

But there were tears, not of sorrow, but of joy. Joyous in the days spent by his side. Joyous in the memories of being called his. Joyous in knowing that there had come a time when he wished for life. Joyous in knowing that he had known love and joy and happiness before death at last took him. Joyous in knowing that he had lived a life worth living. Even if the life had been between numbered days. Even if the life that had known anything more than heartache found itself far too short-lived. Because in the seconds between joy and death, infinities had stretched on between each tick of the clock. Even in the days with Tony Stark, eternities had been written. 

“I want to see the stars again.” He whispered as the day turned to night.

Tony pursed his lips and nodded, eyes still brimmed with tears. Bruce bent beneath his fingers as Tony lifted him with ease, a testament to the toll that it had taken on his body, all that it had eaten away from him. He didn't protest being placed gently into that damned chair, didn't speak a word until they reached the door. 

“I wanna feel the grass between my toes. I wanna feel my damn legs move one more time. I want to walk, Tony.” He pleaded. 

“Then dammit, okay.” Tony murmured, crossing around his chair, holding out two hands for him to take. “If you wanna walk, you're gonna walk.” 

He summoned whatever strength was left in him and held tightly to Tony’s forearms, pulling himself up onto wobbling legs. Legs no longer meant to hold him, but dammit, he was going to force them to. By the warmth in Tony’s fingertips and the twinkling allure of starlight, he was going to force his weary legs to move. The cold tile pressed against bare feet, shocking them to life, fingers digging into his lover’s arms in attempt to steady himself. 

And then, he was being led outside. 

The prickling of grass between his toes, something he hadn't felt since the days of his childhood. Blades bending beneath his feet, freshly wet and cold with dew. A small gasp drew from his lips at the chill, at the night sky opening up around him, at the grass awakening some youth that he thought had executed and lost to the cancer. Tony guided him forward slowly, on shaking legs, but for the first time in weeks, he was walking. He was _walking._

He was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks, but they were undoubtedly, unquestionably, undeniably those of joy. He was revived, if only in the ticking seconds, beneath starlight, above the blades of grass, enveloped within the touch of the man he loved. In the steps taken toward the brink of his own mortality, he felt more alive than he ever had. 

“I used to want to be an astronomer.” Bruce murmured as they found themselves in the grass, Bruce on Tony’s chest as they pointed out constellations. “Dad used to make me sleep in the attic. Punishment for whatever bad thing he said I did, always kept me up there in the cold. But there was this one little window, right above my bed. I used to sleep beneath the stars every single night. It was… It was the only bright spot in my day. And I eventually fell in love.” 

Tony didn't speak. Instead, he opted to listen, to learn, to get every story he could before his time came and there would be no more stories to listen to. He cursed himself for being a damn fool, for not listening more. For wasting his time searching for more sand to fill the hourglass. For not laying at his side at every opportunity he got. For not recognizing that there were things more important than fixing things that were not meant to be fixed. He cursed himself for not listening and memorizing every story Bruce Banner had to tell him. He cursed himself for letting them go buried with him. 

“Drifted away from it eventually.” Bruce explained. “Not because I ever wanted to, really. I said I moved to medicine, and more practical science, because the stars weren't saving lives. But I really just liked the perks. I liked the attention. I liked the money.” 

His fingers found Tony’s, lacing through them tightly as the stars slowly began to fade from the night sky, dawn just beginning to break anew. Another night breaking into morning, the sunrise drawing what was left from his bones. 

“After the accident, I used to curse myself for not just staying among the stars. Better to keep my head there than down here. I would curse myself for being so damn vain. I'd curse myself for not being the astronomer I should've been.” Bruce sighed, fingers squeezing tighter around the familiar, calloused hand that he had come to love, and he counted himself lucky. Lucky to have made so many mistakes. Lucky to have chosen this broken road. Lucky to have met him. “I'm glad I didn't. Glad I never was. Glad I chose the path I chose.”

Bruce had been wrong that morning. He didn't watch the skies, opting to watch through Tony’s eyes as the skies turned light and morning broke once again. Bruce Banner did live to see one last sunrise, reflected in the tears welled in Tony Stark’s eyes. And it was well and truly magnificent.


End file.
